


The Agony of Hope

by Chichirinoda



Series: Chain Arc [7]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-06
Updated: 2009-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giriko wants something from Mifune, and as far as he's concerned, he's going to get it whether Mifune likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Agony of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This instalment is sortof a bridging fic between The Breaking Point, and the new stories I plan to write in the arc. It was also written for the [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) prompt Roleplay/AU (master/slave) XD!

Giriko had promised that the following day they would leave Arachnophobia forever, perhaps even go to Shibusen and reunite Mifune and Angela. In that moment, flush with hormones and even, possibly, some level of caring about one another, the future had seemed bright. Possibly, _possibly_ , Mifune would one day be able to stand on his own feet again, free himself from Giriko and live as his equal.

But that promised day turned into more than a week, and by the end of ten days Mifune wondered if Giriko had simply been lying to him from the start.

He had probably never intended to leave Arachne. How could Mifune have thought he would leave her after 800 years of devoted service? Mifune couldn't possibly be that important to him.

Still, the last ten days had been a huge improvement over the previous few weeks. Giriko had softened towards him considerably, allowing him free movement of the apartment unless he specifically needed him, rather than chaining him to the furniture at all times as if he might try to escape.

Now, though, Mifune sat curled up like a cat on the couch, dozing with his head in Giriko's lap while the alchemist worked on a piece of machinery, screwing bits on in a way that looked completely random to Mifune's untrained eye.

Giriko set the piece aside abruptly and wiped the grease from his hands onto a well-used cloth. "What time is it?"

Mifune started at the strange question and craned his neck upwards until he spotted the clock on the wall. It looked like Giriko had made it, misshapen and bizarre, but so far as he could tell it told the time perfectly. It was hard to count time when you scarcely ever left an underground room and weren't permitted much clothing, let alone a watch, so he was often grateful for the presence of the clock.

"It's five o'clock, Master," he said, shifting onto his back to look up at Giriko quizzically.

"Right," Giriko said and gave him a slap on the thigh. "Get up and get dressed, we're going out."

Mifune stared at him for a moment, but his body was moving almost on its own, and he rolled to his feet gracefully. Still, the words were still processing as slowly as if he had never heard them in that combination before.

"Dressed?"

Giriko laughed at him, a little less nastily than he once might have, but definitely finding amusement at Mifune's expense. "Yeah, like in clothes. I know ya might not have worn clothes in a while, but if we're gonna leave the castle you'll have ta cover up."

He smacked Mifune on the ass and the slave moved hastily towards the bedroom, wondering if he even _had_ any clothes other than the thongs and small things that Giriko let him wear when they left the room.

To his surprise, when Giriko reached into his closet, he rummaged for only a moment before he pulled out a set of Mifune's clothes - sweater, slacks, and his ragged coat. Mifune stared at them like he was looking at a ghost.

"Put 'em on," Giriko said, throwing them towards him. Mifune caught them awkwardly and began to dress, startled at the texture of rough cotton against his skin. They even _smelled_ like his old life, and for a moment he shuddered faintly at the reminder.

He didn't have long to remember, before Giriko grabbed the end of the chain which snaked out from his collar, and tugged sharply to get his attention. "Sandals," he said, pointing down. "Stop stalling."

"I'm not stalling," Mifune protested, quickly stepping into the sandals. They were almost uncomfortably rough against bare feet that had walked only on stone and carpet for weeks now.

"Sure ya are," Giriko said. "Not surprised if you're scared about goin' out after so long."

"I'm not, sir," Mifune said, moving hastily towards the Weapon. "Really."

Giriko searched his face and Mifune looked away. It was hard, sometimes, to meet his gaze.

"Well then," Giriko said. "Let's not wait any longer. Taxi should be here already."

And as he began to head towards the door, Mifune fell in behind him in his practiced way, head lowered and maintaining a careful distance between himself and Giriko. There was slack on the chain, but he also wasn't crowding the other man. He was unobtrusive, submissive, and obedient. Just as he'd been taught.

But the clothing and shoes were strange. His feet didn't touch the smooth stone, and the sandals flapped loudly against the floor. How odd that he'd never noticed how irritating that was, before. And his clothing was weird against his skin, harsh and strange compared to the cool air on bare skin he was accustomed to.

They didn't meet many people on the way out, but those few they did pass seemed to look at Mifune strangely. Of course, they were used to seeing a great deal more of the slave when he was paraded around the halls like this.

There was indeed a taxi idling outside and Giriko hopped in with Mifune without a word. He passed the driver a note and the car took off, away from Baba Yaga's castle and up the switchback trail.

Mifune curled up against Giriko comfortably, watching the scenery go by with his head resting against the other man's chest.

"Where are we going?" he asked hesitantly. Giriko's fingers were brushing lightly through his hair, and they ceased at the question.

"You'll see," he said, then resumed the slow petting.

For the first time, Mifune wondered if maybe they really were leaving for good. He had expected more preparation, of course - Giriko had belongings he would have wanted to pack, even if Mifune had nothing of value left at the Castle. Surely he couldn't just throw a project aside and leave forever with nothing but the clothes on his back and his slave in tow.

But no, if he had packed up a suitcase, someone would notice. If he made it look like he was just taking his slave to town for some reason, few would remark upon it until he didn't come back. Maybe even days later, if most assumed that he was on a mission, and Arachne didn't summon him.

Maybe they really were leaving. Maybe Giriko hadn't lied to him, after all.

But how could he know? He settled a little more firmly against Giriko, wishing he could think of a way to ask him that wouldn't just get him angry. He had already refused to give him information once, and asking flat out wouldn't help.

Of course, if they were leaving they would go to the airport. Or something. He would know then.

In a flash of inspiration, Mifune realized something else. It was quite likely that Giriko wouldn't say where they were going aloud because the taxi might be bugged with one of Arachne's spiders.

Almost vibrating with the agony of not knowing, the agony of hope, Mifune curled his fingers in Giriko's shirt and waited.

But they didn't go to the airport. The taxi pulled up finally in front of a small, rather dingy-looking building with a flashing neon sign out front. For one moment, Mifune wondered if Giriko had taken him to another fetish club like the one they'd visited in Paris, but the sign read, "massage parlour".

Why were they here?

Mifune lifted his head and scooted over in the seat a little, watching Giriko while he paid the cab driver and instructed him to come back in an hour and a half. Then Giriko glanced at him. "Go on, get out. We're here."

Still confused, Mifune climbed out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. He heard a whistle and looked around to see a woman in high-heeled boots, a tube top and a miniskirt - and not a hell of a lot else - gesturing at him. Her smile widened a little when Giriko joined him, but turned to a look of bored irritation as Giriko started towards the massage parlour without giving her a second glance.

"Why are we here, sir?" Mifune asked, a little awkwardly. He was a bit put off by the proposition from that prostitute. This had to be a very seedy part of town.

"Why do ya think?" Giriko asked, gesturing towards the sign. "It's a massage parlour. You figure it out."

Mifune frowned and didn't respond as he trailed Giriko obediently into the building. So Giriko dragged him out here because he wanted Mifune to watch him getting a massage? This was weird, even for Giriko.

Inside, the masseuses were only slightly better dressed than the whore outside. Mifune looked around briefly, then fixed his eyes on the wall, trying to look bored rather than scandalized. Wasn't there a better - an _accredited_ \- place they could have come to?

"Get me a full service package," Giriko said, leaning on the reception desk and picking one of his sharp teeth with a fingernail.

"Do the two of you want a room together?" the woman behind the desk asked, running an acrylic nail down an empty schedule sheet. "Or separate?"

"Just one massage, ain't you listenin'?" Giriko growled. "And just make sure there's a chair in the room."

Now the woman smirked knowingly and flicked her eyes towards Mifune with an expression that made him want to sink through the floor. Determined not to let the embarrassment get to him, he folded his arms and was suddenly grateful for the long sleeves of his shirt. Unfortunately the collar was still visible, but maybe it would just look like jewellery to most people right now, since Giriko wasn't leading him on a chain.

"I've got it," she said and opened a rattling drawer. She extracted a key and handed it to Giriko. "Room five, third door on the left. Just let yourself in and whoever is getting the massage can take off all their clothes and lie face down on the table."

"Thanks," Giriko said, taking the key and gesturing to Mifune. "Come on."

Mifune sighed faintly and trailed after Giriko, following him into a small dark room with a worn-looking massage table in the middle. A stool stood in the corner, and Giriko went straight for it, plunking himself down and leaning back against the wall.

"Strip," Giriko instructed, smirking. "And get on the table."

Mifune stared at him for a full ten seconds before beginning to shrug out of his coat. "I'm getting a massage?"

"Ya are," Giriko confirmed, the smirk widening. Then he sobered. "Now that you've decided it ain't so bad bein' with me, it's time for ya to learn some new stuff, ta serve me better. Pay attention to what she does, because I'll want ya to do the same things when I ask."

Mifune hesitated with his fingers on the buttons of his shirt, then resumed taking the shirt off. Why he had entertained the thought - even for a moment - that Giriko would give him some kind of gift without a benefit to himself was beyond him.

"I've never given a massage before," he said, shrugging out of his shirt and folding it up, setting it on a low table that seemed convenient. "What if I'm not very good?"

"Then I'll punish ya until ya do it right," Giriko said matter-of-factly.

Mifune bit his lip and looked away, heart sinking again. He dropped his pants, feeling somewhat awkward about undressing when he knew a stranger was going to be coming into the room. But this was a massage parlour. She would be used to such things.

"Underwear, too," Giriko instructed. Confused and even more unhappy about this, Mifune complied and then climbed up on top of the table, stretching out on his stomach. There was no blanket, nothing to protect him from full view.

He heard a faint creak, and footsteps, and then Giriko's hand rubbed gently down his back and across his shoulders. "You nervous?"

"No, sir," Mifune said honestly. He was rather glad for the structure of the bed, which allowed him to keep his face pointed downwards and didn't force him to turn his head and look at Giriko.

Two weeks ago, he had had certainty. He had truly believed that all of this, _all_ of this had been because Giriko wanted him for himself, maybe even loved him in his own twisted and bizarre way. When he had shown Giriko that he wanted him, too, that Giriko didn't have to use the threat of violence to keep him close anymore, he had thought something would change.

A few things had. Giriko had softened, confident that Mifune wasn't going to try to escape. And there was now this. But it wasn't what he had wanted.

Slowly but surely, the hope he had had was being crushed, whittled away, broken down piece by piece.

"What, then?" Giriko asked. "You don't want ta give me massages if I want them?"

"No, no," Mifune said hastily. "It's not that. I... I don't mind giving you a massage if that's what you want." Certainly it didn't sound like a terribly onerous chore in comparison to some.

"Then what is it?" Giriko asked again, steel creeping into his voice.

Mifune stiffened, aware that Giriko would see it, but unable to help himself. He didn't want to tell him what was wrong. He didn't even know how to articulate it, let alone explain it in a way that wouldn't damage what little progress they had made. If he told Giriko about his fears and disappointment, would Giriko conclude that Mifune might run away again?

Probably he would.

Thankfully they were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Mifune lifted his head slightly and saw a slender young brunette enter the room, wearing a low-cut white shirt with the black bra visible underneath, and a worn pair of jeans. She smiled briefly at the two men. "So you're going to watch?" she asked Giriko.

"That's the plan, honey. Just pretend I'm not here." Giriko said, giving Mifune's collar a sharp tug with one finger before he stepped away and sat back down on the stool. It was a warning - the conversation was only delayed, not over.

"Sure," she said, then looked at Mifune, her smile widening. "Hi, I'm Kayla. And you are?"

"Mifune," he said, feeling distinctly awkward. "There wasn't a blanket or a robe, so..."

"Are you cold?" she asked briskly, moving around to his side and placing a hand in the middle of his back. She made slow circles with the heel of her hand.

"No, no, I'm not cold," Mifune said, lowering his head down to the table again. "It's fine."

"Okay, well tell me if I'm using too much pressure, then," Kayla said, and then went to work on Mifune's shoulders.

It took a while for him to relax, but she did have a firm and practiced touch that slowly unknotted the muscles and smoothed them out again. She didn't say much, but moved from neck to shoulders to lower back, even kneading over his ass and down his thighs before moving their way back up again.

The scent of the oil she used was heady, and there was soft music piping in from somewhere. After a while, Mifune nearly fell asleep, forgetting that Giriko was watching everything, nearly forgetting to pay attention to what she was doing.

Finally she gave his shoulder a light shake. "Turn over onto your back, now," she said cheerfully, and half of the work she'd done was thrown out the window.

As she'd worked over his body, there had certainly been a very unsubtle...reaction to what she was doing. Nothing he could help, especially as she rubbed the oil without any evidence of modesty into his ass and upper thighs. But now that reaction made it impossible for him to turn over and maintain his dignity.

"I, uh... do you need to do the front?" he asked awkwardly.

"Do what she says, Mifune," Giriko piped up, startling Mifune all over again. It wasn't just the steely tone that startled him, but the fact that he'd nearly forgotten that Giriko was there.

"Sorry, sir," he said hastily, and pushed himself up, blushing furiously as he turned over to reveal the erection that had developed. He stared determinedly up at the ceiling, as Kayla let out a chuckle.

"Don't tell me this is your first time, Mifune," she said, pouring more oil into her palms. "Don't you know what you asked for?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know-- I... I didn't ask for it," Mifune said, and then he realized what was going on. "I've never been to a place like this before," he added, his heart beginning to beat. Surely it wasn't what he was thinking, even considering the seediness of this massage parlour. Giriko had always been so _possessive_ of Mifune. Would he really just sit there while some strange woman--

Apparently he would, because Giriko was sitting quite comfortably, tipped back a little on the stool and leaning against the wall. Kayla gave Mifune a pillow and fluffed it up a little so he was sitting up slightly, then began rubbing oil into his chest with a rather appreciative smile. From this angle Mifune could see Giriko perfectly, including the fact that he had his fly open and was slowly stroking himself while watching Mifune like a hawk.

 _Oh god..._

"That's so cute. You're into BDSM?" Kayla asked, tugging lightly on Mifune's collar with one lacquered fingernail. Mifune stiffened in surprise, his skin crawling at the tug to his collar and also having no idea what she was talking about or how to answer.

Thankfully, Giriko quickly supplied a response. "That's right, girl, and we aren't paying you to chit-chat. Mifune, eyes on me, and don't you dare look away."

Mifune shivered slightly and turned his head subtly, looking past the now-pouting girl to his master. "Yes, sir," he said softly.

Kayla moved down his body, rubbing his arms and stomach, massaging the tight but slowly softening muscles of his abdomen. He hadn't had the opportunity to stay in as good shape as he was accustomed to, though he did his best in snatched moments when Giriko wasn't around, to do exercises and try to keep in fighting trim.

It was hard to ignore her, to focus on Giriko, who held his gaze as his hand moved faster over his own cock. Kayla moved down further, rubbing more oil into his thighs and shins, but then she moved back up. Mifune's cock had flagged a little in his embarrassment, but now it was hard and heavy against his stomach.

Without a word or hesitation, Kayla reached up and curled her fingers around his cock, beginning to stroke with an almost brutal rhythm. It was fast and even, designed to jerk him off as quickly as he might do himself. There was no foreplay to it - no caring or affection. It was like masturbation, only he wasn't using his own hands.

Mifune curled his fingers into fists with the effort not to push her away. He focused on Giriko, now not only because he had been ordered to, but because he struggled to forget that it was some strange woman touching him most intimately. At least Giriko, he was comfortable with touching him. Giriko took the most intimate liberties with him every day, and had been doing so for about six months now.

But this was a stranger. Some men probably wouldn't have cared - even Mifune might not have cared much at one time in his life. But he had been violated by strangers too many times to be comfortable like this. Not when it hadn't been a person of his own choosing, a _time_ of his own choosing.

Still, she was good at what she was doing. He shuddered and whimpered, wanting to close his eyes but keeping them open, keeping his gaze trained on Giriko.

Suddenly Giriko himself shuddered, lowering his own head and quickly grabbing a tissue from his pocket before spilling himself into it. Mifune moaned, feeling himself respond to that sight, and grow even harder. The hand on his cock sped up, and a second hand slid over his thigh and between his legs, teasing at his balls and at his entrance.

That made him jump and he tore his eyes away from Giriko for a moment, tensing. It was one thing for a stranger to jerk him off. Quite another for her to--

"Eyes on me!" Giriko snarled, and Mifune's concentration shattered again as his eyes darted back to his Master.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry," he said hastily. Giriko tucked himself back into his pants and got up, stretching. Kayla's finger was probing deeper inside him and he whimpered, squirming faintly - half to get away, half craving more stimulation, his body betraying him once again, and it wasn't even Giriko who was doing it this time.

Giriko's face filled his vision as the Weapon drew closer, and then cupped Mifune's cheeks in both hands.

"You look at me," he whispered. "I'm all that matters, Mifune. She can do what she wants, and it no different from as if I'm doing it. Got it?"

Mifune nodded, confused, but too scattered by pleasure and nervousness to question it. She touched his prostate deep inside and he jerked once at the spark of intense pleasure, gasping, and then climaxed with a cry.

"Good," Giriko soothed, then captured his lips, rough and possessive.

Mifune whimpered softly then reached up and clung to Giriko as he rode out the waves of the orgasm, curling his fingers in the other man's leather jacket as the girl finished him off and then wiped him up with a couple of tissues.

By the time he realized she had stopped touching him and begun to come down from the intense sensations, she was gone.

Giriko pulled away from him, turning away as if unconcerned. As if nothing had happened. "Get dressed. We're done here."

Mifune slid off the table, his muscles still a little rubbery from both the massage and the orgasm. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked, trying not to let it sound peevish. He was confused and a little disoriented, remembering the brutal rape and the incident at the club, and struggling to push it out of his mind.

"Yeah," Giriko said, and didn't ask Mifune if he had enjoyed it, too. Mifune grabbed his clothes and dressed quickly in silence, his head down.

They were in the taxi before Giriko spoke again. "So what's your problem?" he asked, softly so that they wouldn't be overheard by the taxi driver, but with determination in his voice.

Mifune hunched a little, aware that he had _known_ this would come back up sooner or later, but still with no more idea than before of how to answer. "I just..." He paused, swallowing. Maybe it would be best to stick to the part he could articulate. "I'm surprised that you wanted someone...someone else to touch me," he said softly. "You've never wanted that before."

"What, you don't like someone givin' ya some free pleasure once in a while?" Giriko asked. There was a strange note in his voice, something off, but Mifune couldn't put his finger on it. He was definitely deflecting the question, though.

And there was nothing for it but to answer Giriko's question honestly. "No, sir," he said. "I don't like it. Not...not when it's not you."

Giriko was silent for a moment. "And ya like it when it's me," he said, flatly. "Ya didn't always like that."

"I know," Mifune whispered. "But you know that's changed. You... you made me love you."

"Yeah," Giriko said. Mifune would have expected him to sound smug, but he didn't. If anything, he sounded matter-of-fact, with perhaps a touch of pleasure as well. His fingertips played down Mifune's back.

Mifune chewed his lip. "It... makes me remember things," he said, struggling to explain. It felt strange to confide in Giriko, like opening up a wound and showing him just where to put the knife for the next cut. "The time I was raped, and... and the club."

"Hmm," Giriko said. "Well, get over it."

The words were even crueller than Mifune had come to expect from Giriko, and he actually jerked away a few inches before settling, stiffly, back against the other man. "Get over it?" he whispered. "It's not that easy!"

"It's gonna havta be," Giriko said, his tone strangely patient. "Because I can't guarantee that I won't have people touch ya again. It ain't necessarily my choice, but you're my property. If I've gotta use for ya, then I'll use you."

"A...use?" Mifune's stomach clenched with nausea. "What...what are you going to use me for?"

"Dunno," Giriko said, and his hand moved into Mifune's hair. "Don't sweat it, Mifune. Maybe it'll never happen. I'd rather just keep ya for myself."

"Then...then why did you even say it?" Mifune asked, hearing the agony in his own tone and not caring. Didn't Giriko care at _all_? Hadn't Mifune seen that affection in his eyes? Hadn't he seen the way Giriko feared what Mifune would think of him? Why was he being like this?

Giriko was silent for a moment. "You just gotta understand maybe it won't always be like this," he said. "Maybe we'll _need_ ya to do somethin' like that."

Mifune opened his mouth to ask what could possibly force him into that position, then stopped, frowning. "Oh," he said softly. Was Giriko talking about leaving Arachne, then? Or was that just wishful thinking?

Was Giriko thinking that if they were on the run, he might need Mifune to do things with other people? Surely that couldn't be necessary, even if they were really down and out. Mifune and Giriko could always sell their swords before their bodies.

Couldn't they?

Mifune said nothing further, and neither did Giriko, the rest of the way back to Baba Yaga's castle.


End file.
